


Inked Petals

by TheWholeDamnTime



Series: Tumblr Prompts and AUs [14]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, F/M, Fluff, Victorian Language of the Flowers, because my science babies deserve happiness, choke-worthy tooth-rotting fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3322772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWholeDamnTime/pseuds/TheWholeDamnTime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jemma is a florist and Fitz is the tattoo artist who moves next door.</p>
<p>Tumblr Prompt: “I passed a flower shop next to a tattoo shop and at first I laughed because I thought it was ironic and then i freaked because IMAGINE YOUR OTP IN A FLORIST/TATTOO ARTIST AU” (http://songofthestarwhale.tumblr.com/post/107285867284/bluedragon-silence-dr-kara-jasongraceless)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [She Does What The Night Does To The Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2500649) by [loonyBibliophile](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loonyBibliophile/pseuds/loonyBibliophile). 



> Also- EVERYTHING IS VICTORIAN LANGUAGE OF THE FLOWERS HAVE FUN SQUEALING OVER THE DECODING: http://www.victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html

Jemma raised a bunch of flowers and inhaled their delicate scent with a smile. Lilies were her absolute favorites, and she always made sure there was an entire row of the various types at the front of her shop.

It was a Friday, and Fridays meant pulling rose petals for the weekend brides to scatter along their isles. Melinda from SHIELD Weddings came by every afternoon like this and picked up the shipments, usually bringing cash payment along with her. Until then, it was bunches of flowers for anniversaries, birthdays, lovers, and all sorts of reasons. Usually, nobody would step foot inside her shop until the afternoon hours, so when a man with sleeves tattooed up and down his arms rang the bell opening the door, her head shot from her work so fast she nearly toppled back off her stool.

“Hello?” she asked hurriedly, brushing baby hairs from her forehead as she stood, making sure not to step on the half-full box before her.

“Hi. ‘m Fitz.” Jemma smiled and stuck out a hand, and he grasped it with a calloused grip.

“Hi. Jemma.” Taking her hand back, she gave him a warm smile and asked, “So what are you looking for?”

“Oh, I’m not looking for anything. I just moved in next door. I run a tattoo shop,” he said, pushing his hands in his pockets and shifting a little bit. _Oh my god he’s cute- no Jemma. No._ “I just thought I’d stop in and say hello.”

“Oh, hello then!” she beamed. “I’m just getting the wedding shipments ready,” she said, settling back down on the stool. “There’s another stool over there if you’d like to join me.” Casually, she sat back down and hoped he wouldn’t notice the blush coloring her cheeks. He nodded and pulled over the chair, grabbing a flower and delicately tugging off the petals.

“So how long have you been a tattoo artist?” she asked as she started on a new flower.

“About five years,” he replied. “I dual-majored engineering and art a bit back, and a couple people told me they’d like my designs on their bodies. So I built my own needles, practiced on oranges, and did enough on my own to earn the money to get the shop a couple weeks back. Just moved in to the loft above yesterday, and my permit to legally open my shop should show up in a half week or so.” She nodded slowly, tugging off the last petal and setting the stem in the growing pile beside her. “How about you? How’d you end up with the shop?” She smiled and ran her fingers over another flower.

“Nothing very interesting, I’m afraid. I have parents who live out a while from here. They’ve always grown flowers and have a little shop set up outside the house, but since there was a freeway built recently, nobody really stops by anymore. I’d just finished my biochemistry major and was looking for a job, and since they need somewhere to sell them, I borrowed a bit of money from them and set up here. I get shipments every morning, and send them some formulas I cook to speed the flower growth sometimes.”

“So when’d you move to Sheffield?” she asked. “You’re from Scotland, right?”

“Yeah. Accent and all kind of gives it away,” he replied with a smile. “Moved here about a year and a half ago to apprentice to one of the tattoo parlors across the city.” A smile curled up the edge of his lips as he glanced up from the flower, and Jemma felt the sudden need to shake herself. _You literally just met him, and odds are he is_ not _boyfriend material_ \- her eyes flicked over his sleeves and she couldn’t help but admire the intricacy of them before physically shaking his head and turning back to the petals falling from her fingers. They worked in silence for a second, and as Fitz finished his most recent flower he glanced at the clock.

“I should probably head out- it’s almost noon,” he said, putting down his last stem and standing, hands running nervously down the front of his jeans. “Can I ask- um, where’s a good place to eat around here?” Jemma smiled warmly and put down her own half-picked flower, turning on her seat to face him.

“There’s a good sandwich place around the corner. I’ll be heading there in a bit, if you’d like to, um-” she said, suddenly blushing with her eyes fixed on the ground, “-if you’d like to join me, that is.” When she looked up, a smile was nervously creeping up on his lips.

“I’d like that, yeah.” Something about the look on his face made her wonder if he’d been just as lonely as she was. _You’re just projecting._ “Maybe we could talk more? I just have to make sure the rest of my stuff isn’t coming until later and lock up.” Jemma nodded, smile on her face, which suddenly flashed to a momentary panic.

“Oh, wait!” At near light-speed, she rushed around the room, pulling together a bundle of wisteria, starwort, and gloxinia and tying it with some ribbon around the base of the stems and handing it to him, half-breathless.

“Here. Consider it a house-warming present.” He looked down at the purple-and-white blossoms in what seemed like shock, glancing between the petals and her eyes and she hoped he couldn’t see the color on her cheeks.

“Oh. Wow. Th-thank you,” he stuttered, still glancing between the florist and the gift pressed in his hands. In a half-second of realization, Jemma noticed her hands were half-clasped on his still, and quickly withdrew.

“So I’ll come back here when I’m done, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The smile on her face when he awkwardly waved goodbye was too large to be logical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves, I hope you enjoyed the first installment! I have ~10,000 words written for this, and am working on closing it up, but couldn't help but post this little bit first. I'm thinking updates on Mondays and Fridays, so let's see if I actually stick to that schedule :P Please leave comments and critiques, as I survive off of your lovely reactions <3 Thank you again!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Flower Language Easter Egg: victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html

Fitz closed the door behind him and took a deep breath in his new shop. His neighbor was _really_ pretty, and he really shouldn’t be thinking this of the first person he’s had an opportunity to be friends with in _forever_.

 _But she gave me flowers. And invited me to lunch. And is really pretty._ He shook his head and moved to put the flowers in a glass of water instead. _Girls like her don’t fall for guys like me_ , he thought, eyes glancing over his sleeves. Gears and wires appeared to poke from beneath skin, beautifully rendered with a careful hand, but so harsh in comparison to the petals that brushed them. Cogs and pistons were such harsh edges in comparison to their soft curves and just serves to further remind him- _control. Control yourself_.

In one motion, he flicked his phone from his pocket. After three rings, his former mentor picked up.

“Hey, Ward.”

“Hey.”

“I was wondering when you were bringing the rest of my stuff from the shop. I was thinking about going out to lunch and wanted to make sure I didn’t leave you hanging, you know.”

“I was going to come around three.”

“Alright, that’s perfect. I should be back by then, easy. Thanks for bringing over the last of it.” There was a grunt that Fitz knew by now to take as a reply. “Alright, see you at three.”

“Bye.” The phone went dead and Fitz rolled his eyes before pocketing the device.

When he walked back into the shop, she had a white camellia tucked into her ponytail and her fingers were stained green from where she was delicately snipping stems and arranging the blooms.

“So are you ready?” he asked as she finished tying the bouquet and brushed off her hands. Setting the bundle of flowers into a nearby vase, she turned to him and tried to smear the color from her fingers on her neat apron.

“Yeah, just let me run upstairs real quick,” she said, opening the door. “I’ve just got to grab my bag, I’ll be right back.” He smiled and nodded, and so she shot up the stairs two at a time towards her room, a too-giddy smile on her face. In a flurry of movement, Jemma practically threw her apron onto a chair and glanced in the mirror to attempt to make herself presentable. After wiping the smears of soil and the occasional discoloration of plant juice from her face, she half-scrubbed her hands before grabbing her bag and racing down to the shop again, a little breathless and flushed.

“Alright, I’m good. C’’mon,” she said with a smile. As she slid her hand into his and tugged for him to follow, he noticed how they were stained and smiled.

“Your fingers are still green.” Glancing down, she let out a soft laugh.

“Ah, yes, the plight of a florist. I’m usually able to scrub it off at the end of the day, but since they’ll just be green again in an hour, I don’t really try.” Fitz grinned at this, half of his mind noticing how she hadn’t really let go as they walked down the street. Her hand hung a little loose in his, not letting go but loose enough so he could have shaken her if he’d wanted. Instead, he slid it into a little more comfortable of a position and tightened his fingers, and she smiled and reciprocated.

“Sounds like when I was learning how to tattoo. My hands smelled like citrus for weeks.”

“We’re here,” she said, only tugging her hand from his when she had to push open the door. As they walked in, a peppy girl with her brown hair in loose curls practically bounced over to them from around the counter, quickly wrapping Jemma in a tight hug.

“Hi, Skye,” she said, her voice a little muffled.

“Jemma! It’s been _ages_.”

“It’s been three days.”

“Still,” she said, waving her hand about dismissively, “these shifts feel like millennia. How are you?” It was then she caught sight of Fitz. A squeal tore from behind her lips and she grabbed Jemma’s arm.

“Oh my god, you’ve got a _boy!_ ” she squealed, practically bouncing. “Why didn’t you tell me, for god’s sakes Jemma-” Then her eyes caught the tattoos winding their way up his arms. She flicked up an eyebrow suggestively and stared at her friend. “Holy shit, you got a _bad boy_ , Jemma. What happened to ‘I like following the rules, it makes me feel nice’?”

“ _Skye!_ ” the florist choked out.

“Oh, you didn’t mention that bit? Yeah,” she continued, turning to a shell-shocked Fitz, “Simmons is a total good-girl and you are corrupting her and it’s _perfect_ -”

“ _Skye!_ ”

“What?” The smirk on Skye’s face was half-evil, half-satisfied and Jemma was about to rip it off of her face in a mixture of frustration and embarrassment.

“We’re not- I’m not- No, it’s- Uh, Jemma?” Fitz stuttered.

“He’s my new neighbor, Skye,” she practically growled through clenched teeth. “He’s going to run a tattoo shop next door.” Skye raised an eyebrow.

“You still took him to lunch, dear. If I remember correctly, it took you nearly a month to bring a boyfriend here,” she said with a wink. Fitz couldn’t find words. “Let me get you two a table.”

Ten minutes later, Jemma was setting fire to the little bundle of flowers that Skye had put on the table with a lighter from her bag. As her companion sent her a confused, slightly scared look, she sighed and started to explain.

“I’m a biochemist. I always need a lighter on me.”

“Yeah, okay, I guess I get that. Engineers always need a Swiss army knife and a screwdriver,” he said with a grin.

“Really?” He grinned, fished in his pockets for a second, and produced the items on the table. She giggled as he continued fishing, face bunched up a bit as he then found four screws, a few chips that looked like they came from an electrical system, and washers of various sizes.

“Now why did you torch the poor flowers?” he asked, putting everything back.

“Victorian flower language,” she said, gesturing at the still-burning flowers. “I learned it as a little girl, and taught Skye a decent portion of it. All of my bouquets have some kind of meaning attached to them.”

“And that was-?”

“A yellow iris with a few marigolds around the edges.” Raising an eyebrow, she sighed and said, “The marigolds are for pretty love and affection, and the yellow iris is for passion.”

“Ah.”

“She’s rather blunt, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Yeah,” Fitz said, decidedly looking at the menu. “What’s good?”

“Oh, don’t bother with the menu. I introduced Skye to a recipe I cooked up once and she makes it special every time I come around.” He raised an eyebrow and she blushed, a little sheepish. “Skye runs her own shop here, so she’s a little busy and doesn’t really look for new recipes. I’ve got free time on slow days, so I’ll search online or sometimes experiment with whatever I have in my fridge. Also, since I supply her flowers, we get a discount. Everyone around here with the little shops help each other out, you know?” He nodded.

“So what could I do to get into your little community?” he asked, half-smile on his face. “Am I even welcome?” Jemma laughed at this, a bright, happy sound that made his smile grow.

“Oh, it’s not _really_ a community. We just all know each other and help each other out. I’m sure you’ll be inducted as you get to know more people,” she said, teasing tone floating along her last sentence. Before he could respond, Skye showed up, carrying two plates.

“Jemma, seriously?” she asked, setting down the plates in front of them and pulling a spray bottle from where it was hooked on her apron to put out the flower.

“I’m sorry, but who’s the one here who taught you everything you know about Victorian flower language?”

“Who’s the one who torched a perfectly lovely set of flowers that _definitely_ didn’t mean _anything_ at all?”

“Liar.”

“Enjoy your lunch,” she replied, all chipper as she gathered up the blackened remains and waltzed back behind the counter.

“So what is it?” Fitz asked as he went in for a bite.

“Prosciutto, buffalo mozzarella, and pesto aioli.”

“Holy shit. This is amazing,” he said, mouth still half-full, before flushing red and swallowing. “Er, sorry.” She rolled her eyes.

“I grew up with an older brother. I don’t care.”

“Oh, good,” he said, going in for another bite. Swallowing this time, he continued, “I mean seriously, how’d you even come up with this?”

“Boredom, hunger, and a very empty refrigerator.”

“Holy shit.” Jemma just grinned and they ate in comfortable quiet, the florist blatantly ignoring Skye as she shot her looks during lulls in her work. As they finished and started up a conversation about Fitz’s artwork and various tattoos he’d done, she wandered over and, rolling her eyes, tossed the check on the table.

“Hey. I stuck it on one check because I’m lazy like that.” Then she grinned. “Have fun.”

“Have fun what?”

“Fighting over who pays.” The two locked eyes. Then, in a half-second, both rushed for their wallets, scrambling to get out payment before the other. Fitz won by a half-second, simply because Jemma’s bag had seven different pockets and she went through three of them before actually finding her wallet.

“Never gets old,” laughed Skye, whisking the check away and waltzing back behind the counter.

“ _Fitz_ ,” she groaned.

“You gave me flowers! I figured I’d pay you back!”

“Those were a housewarming present! Besides, I took you here.”

“But I asked you where to go.” Jemma sighed and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. It’s done. But I _will_ pay you back.”

“No you won’t.”

“Not even with baked goods?” she asked, eyes glinting mischievously. There was a pause.

“Alright, maybe you can pay me back in baked goods,” he relented, letting a hint of a smile creep up his face. Glancing at his watch, he continued, “But I do have to get back soon. Ward’s bringing over the last of my stuff at three and I wanted to get the rest of it tidied away first, you know?” She nodded and stood, waving to Skye before they wandered back down the street together, chatting mindlessly and laughing as they went.

Skye stared at them as they left, her co-worker walking up next to her as there was a lull in business.

“My money’s on five weeks,” he said, holding up five bucks.

“Oh, you’re on, Trip,” she replied with a grin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! I'm a bit sleep-deprived right now so this'll be quick- I hope you enjoy the chapter and I would love to hear your reactions! Any comments or critiques are welcome (and very encouraged!) as I survive off of your lovely reactions :P Thank you for reading and more to come on Monday!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Flower Language Easter Egg: victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html

A half-week later, they were eating lunch again and chatting casually about business, Fitz ecstatic over the permit that’d come in the mail the day before and the list of customers and designs he’d been commissioned so far.

“There was one guy,” he told her in between bites, “that wanted me to do him tonight at eight, and I had to ask him for a later date. He was really adamant about it, though, so I had to tell him flat-out no. He got pissy, but he’s coming in a few days later, so no business lost there.”

“Why?” He grinned sheepishly at her.

“Doctor Who’s on tonight.” A burst of surprised laughter flew from her lips and he acted mock-hurt, overplaying it for her entertainment.

“No, no,” she explained, her giggles quieting, “it’s just that’s what I’m doing tonight, too.” Mischief wormed its way onto her face and she hoped he didn’t notice her blush.

“Want to come over to watch it? I still owe you those cupcakes,” she offered.

“Uh- yeah, yeah I’d like that. Thanks,” he replied, hoping she didn’t see the redness on his.

He showed up promptly at seven, a pack of beers at his side. She had flour smeared over an apron, little flicks of batter in her hair and some frosting dotted on various places on her skin.

“Hi. Come on in, I just started frosting.”

“I can see,” he commented, wiping a drop of red from her hair. She grinned and darted off to the kitchen, immediately grabbing the finished cupcakes and brandishing them before her. He grinned as she held up little daleks and cybermen faces. The daleks had all their little eyes on lollipop sticks and gumdrops for the ligts. The cybermen were expertly designed, even the logo on their foreheads done up in black icing.

“Oh my god,” he laughed. She beamed, and offered him a frosting tube and a fresh cupcake.

“I assume you’re going to be good, mister tattoo artist,” she said with a smile.

“Just wait and see.” A few minutes later, as Jemma was finishing up another dalek, he proudly held up an ood, complete with a candy translator-ball. She grinned and one-up-ed him by making Cassandra, and he by making the Face of Boe. They continued making new characters and presenting them to each other until Jemma’s alarm went off and they rushed to the living room, each carrying two cupcakes and laughing like schoolchildren.

They watched the show in silence, but the commercial breaks were filled with chatter and laughter, speculation and theory as they wove potential endings and old headcannons. Even after the episode, they spent the entire night talking, getting to know each other better over drinks and warm laughter. He left with a smile and the remaining cupcakes. The next morning, they were back at it, talking until noon came around and customers began to show up. He was sensitive and sweet and talked everything from science to the life of a shopkeeper to random geekery with her- always up to speed with whatever she’d said and she never needed to drop back and explain. And in the afternoon, in the mornings, for weeks on end they grew closer together over casual movie nights and stupid experiments cooked up in Jemma’s kitchen. Soon Fitz could name off at least half of the flowers in the shop and a few Victorian meanings behind them and Jemma would doodle Fitz new designs on transfer paper on slow days.

He’d always find a single flower waiting in a vase he put at the front of his shop. A white violet, a purple lilac, a love-in-a-mist, a gardenia, heart’s easr, and a red catchfly with a sprig of asparagus fern tied to the base all showed up during the first month or so of his stay. He’d always thank her later, take care to water and tend to the flowers until they’d start to wither. Then, the day after the petals would begin to crumple, he’d always find it replaced with a fresh one. He figured it was the side-effect of being friends with a florist. _A very pretty florist. Fitz!_ he chided himself. Shaking his head, he went back to the transfer paper, sketching the most recent blossom with a steady hand.

* * *

 

Jemma was in the middle of unpacking a new shipment when Fitz came over the next day, immediately gravitating to help her carry the blooms inside the shop. She smiled and handed him a load of them, and he turned to take them inside when he ran into someone else walking out. Fixed by a glare, Fitz couldn’t help but think _this guy looks like he kills for a living_.

“Jem, who’s this?” the guy growled. “You a boyfriend?” he asked, stepping closer to Fitz and eyes flicking down to notice his tattoos. “You better not be fucking with her. I will-”

“Not a boyfriend,” called Jemma from inside the truck. Awkwardly, Fitz took a step back. “And Lance, don’t you dare scare him. He’s a sweetheart.” Stepping out of the truck again with a load of sunflowers, she squeaked as the man grabbed her arm and tugged her to the side, muttering low but Fitz could still hear every word.

“He looks like one of those punks off the street!”

“What’s with the stigma against the tattoos? You have one yourself!” she replied, clearly exasperated and eyes narrowed. Pulling her arm away, she walked over to Fitz, something hard in her step, and snapped “Fitz, meet my idiot brother Lance. I’d suggest you deck him over the comment he made, except he’s one of the people who earns money by beating the shit out of others.”

“Hey! It’s a perfectly legal and legitimate-”

“ _Sure_ , Lance,” she sighed, rolling her eyes and walking into the shop, something fierce in her gait. “That should be the last of it. See you next week, when you’re actually taking a break from handing out bruises.” The words thrown over her shoulder, she hardly looked at her brother as he rolled his eyes and drove away. As they set down the flowers they were carrying on a table and set up their usual petal situation, Fitz noticed how jerky and sharp her movements were, how she tugged at the petals without regard.

 “You okay?” he asked tentatively.

“Fine.” The word was short and tense.

“Jemma.” She glanced up as his fingers stopped moving, and her shoulders slumped a bit at his expression.

“Fine,” she sighed, a completely different context in the way it brushed from between her lips on a reluctant gust of air.

“What is it?” Her fingers halted in their work as his started up again, and he helf-watched as she fiddled with the stem.

“I can’t stand it when people treat you like that. Like you’re some- some _hooligan_ off the streets or something. You’re probably smarter than a few of them combined and they still edge their way around you or look down their noses or something and it _frustrates me_ ,” she said, her emotion pushing the last words from her mouth with a pressure to them.

“Better than what they used to do.” Her head shot up, and he could feel the sensation of her eyes as he focused on the petals. There was a question silently boring into him, and after almost a minute of her staring, still as a statue, he sighed and sat up, tossing the leftover stem to the side. Carefully, he offered his arm to her and she looked closer. Her breath caught in her throat as she found the even scars, barely visible beneath the shaded inks. Her fingers ran over the raised lines and a breath hissed through her teeth.

“I got in a bad place in high school. Three grades higher than everyone my age, ‘freaky genius kid’, and all of that fun stuff. The clichés, too. School bullies picking on the nerdy, geeky student, the whole lot. I was angry and I hurt inside, and some warped, twisted logic told me that if I hurt on the outside, maybe the inside would stop.” She stared, hand hovering barely over his arm, then glanced at him. He nodded his okay and the soft coolness of her hands on his skin made him repress a shiver.

“Is that why you-?” she managed, fingers tracing the details of the designs. “You wanted to cover them up?”

“Kind of.” She nodded, fingers still tracing the gears and wires. “Part of me just wanted to do it.”

“When’d you stop?”

“Three years on Friday.” There was quiet for a moment, and he focused on the way her fingertips were tracing light patterns down his bicep to his forearms and leaving little chilled trails in their wake. 

“Congrats, I guess?” she offered, face twisting with awkwardness. “I’m not sure what the right thing to say here is.”

“It’s okay. I wouldn’t know what to say, either.”

On Friday, he found drooping yellow flowers and little clumps of minuscule pink ones in the vase on the counter, a small note tied with red ribbon around the stem. Her elegant script read _cowslip and marjoram- for healing and joy and happiness_. A smile tugged at his lips and he made sure they were at the front of his shop, the note tucked safely in his pocket.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Flower Language Easter Egg: victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html  
> Jemma's Tattoo: http://tattrx.tumblr.com/post/105455526979/marcus-lund-tattoo-blue-orchids

After a couple months, FitzSimmons exchanged keys. They were around each other enough to justify needing them, and to be honest, Jemma was a bit sick of having to fish the spare from its hiding place when Fitz needed her to check the store every time he went on a supply run and forgot what he needed. Besides, she trusted him enough. They knew each other inside and out, finishing sentences and overlapping on one and other’s words.

Three days after that, Jemma walked into Fitz’s shop with determination in her step that made him raise an eyebrow from where he was cleaning up.

“I want you to give me a tattoo.”

Fitz froze in place. For a moment, he just stared at her, stance firm and fists on her hips in the front of his little shop. Then-

“ _What?_ ”

“I,” she said, slowly and steadily, taking a slow step forward and her lips quirking up at the edge. “Want. You. To. Give. Me. A-”

“Yes, yes, I know, I heard you.” Shaking his head, he ran a hand through his curls. “What on earth made you decide this?”

“I’ve been thinking about it a while.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” he commented, exasperation on his voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and plopping down on the couch he left out for customers’ friends and moral support.

“It means,” Fitz said with a sigh, settling next to her, “that not many people come in with that kind of solid determination and resolve. You must have thought about this quite a bit.”

“For most of the past month, to be honest.”

“Alright, you’re positive, then?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely-”

“ _Fitz._ ”

“Fine. Where?”

“My neck, trailing up to behind my ear.”

“That’ll hurt like hell.”

“I know.”

“You going to be okay?”

“Of course.”

“You sure?”

“Leopold _Fitz_.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop. How big?”

“Not very.”

“Have a design?”

“Of course.”

“Have it with you?”

“Of course.”

“Let me see.” Jemma pulled a folded paper from the pocket of her jeans and offered it to him. Unfolding it, he saw delicate petals rendered in breathtaking watercolors. Shades of cool blues and light greens flowed over the image and Fitz felt his heart start beating just that little bit faster as he thought of it trailing up Jemma’s neck.

“You can do watercolor, right?”

“Of course,” he breathed. After a moment of examining the design, he put it in his lap and turned to her. “Jem, are you sure?”

“Never been more certain.” She smiled at him, then let her fingers brush over the paper.

“They’re orchids. Stand for love, beauty, and thoughtfulness. I won’t regret marking my skin with something that represents such lovely things.”

“Suits you, too,” Fitz said in a half-daze, staring at the paper. Jemma hoped to god he didn’t notice her blush.

“When should I come in?”

“Is Saturday okay? I have a decent number of appointments, and this seems like a one-shot job with a couple breaks, so I’d like to take the morning to do it.”

“Perfect. Time?”

“Ten?”

“Alright. And, uh,” she stammered, the first hint of uncertainty in her eyes, “how much would it cost?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“ _Fitz_ ,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“With the sheer quantity of flowers you bring, you’ve more than paid for it.”

“Fitz, don’t make me scrounge for your ancient pricing list.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Watch me.”

“How about you do lunch for the next week and we’ll call even?” The florist sighed. _There’s no way he’s going to bend on this one._

“Fine.” Fitz nearly crowed in triumph, but she cut him off with a “- _but_ ,” and an exasperated look. “-I will be paying you back somehow. Don’t even think about trying to deter me.”

“Never, dear Jemma,” he said, already cooking up schemes to get Skye on his side and slip her the money back.

“ _Fitz_.” There was a sigh as he trashed the plans.

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Thank you for reading and extra thanks to notapepper for reminding me about adding the links to Jemma's tattoo design :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Flower Language Easter Egg: victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html  
> Jemma's Tattoo: http://tattrx.tumblr.com/post/105455526979/marcus-lund-tattoo-blue-orchids

That Saturday, Jemma walked over in a low-cut top, making sure her whole neck was exposed and her hair was neatly pulled up in a bun. She stuck a note on her door, promising she’d be back during the breaks she and Fitz had decided on, and walked to where her friend was setting up his needles and the inks. His fingers faltered when he saw her, but she chalked it up to nerves as she settled in the seat, casually crossing her legs and watching as he worked.

“You ready?” he asked, tinge of nervousness in his voice.

“Are you?”

“You’re a tattoo virgin getting it done on one of the more sensitive parts of your body. If I’m unprepared, you’re falling from a plane with no parachute.”

“Touché.”

“Alright, everything’s ready. Sit like this. Yeah, there. Now could you please-” she turned her head a bit and bared her neck to him “-yeah, there, perfect. Now I’m going to run a blank needle over the area, get you prepared. If it hurts too much, we can always scrap this, alright?” She nodded. “Jemma, I need you to say you’ll tell me to stop if it hurts too much.” There was a light quiver in his voice, something apprehensive and nervous.

“Fine.”

“ _Jemma_.”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts too much, okay, Fitz?”

“Good.” Then, under his breath, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said softly, not sure if he had wanted her to hear but letting him know anyways. It was important. For some reason. _Emotions. Under control._ Now _, Jemma!_

There was a light coolness as he disinfected the site, and she grit her teeth as she felt the needle pressing into her skin, running over it in a burst of light pain. After a moment, it was withdrawn and she felt a wipe passing over her skin.

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” she breathed.

“Are you sure?”

“Leopold-”

“Fine, fine, I’m just making sure.” She heard him filling it with ink and taking a slow, shaky breath. “Here goes nothing.”

For the next few hours, Fitz carefully colored the design, pausing every time Jemma started to become overwhelmed. His hands were steady and gentle as he kept the space clean, made sure she was alright. Every time her teeth clenched too hard, she’d feel the needle disappear and his fingers brushing her shoulder, a silent comfort.

“Ready to keep going?”

“Of course.”

And then he’d put the needle back to her skin and continue his work, rendering the flowers with a deliberate hand.

“There,” he said after a few hours, wiping it clean. “You’re done. Pretty as a picture.” As she sat more upright with a slight wince, he held up a mirror so she could see the colors painting her skin. She smiled as he handed her the mirror and began to rummage in the nearby drawer for a bottle of ointment.

“Ready to wrap?” he asked, coming back with ointment and plastic wrap. She nodded, then winced a bit at the motion.

“Yeah, that’ll hurt for a while. Just try not to move too much and put on the ointment every morning and you’ll be alright.” She shivered at the cold pressing against the redness of irritated skin as he smoothed it over the ink, covering the area with the plastic wrap and bandaging the area.

“Lunch?” she asked, glancing at the clock.

“Sure. Can’t wait to see Skye flip at this one.”

* * *

 

When they made it to the diner, Skye, indeed, flipped.

“You got a _what?!_ ”

“A tattoo.”

“On your _neck?!_ ”

“Yes.” Turning, Skye smacked Fitz on the arm so hard he yelped.

“I was _kidding_ about the corruption thing!”

“Not my idea!”

“Not his idea!”

“So it was _your_ idea?!”

“Yes!”

“What the _hell?!_ ”

“It’s flowers! It’s nothing _bad!_ ”

“What?” Now Skye sounded puzzled. Then, seeing Jemma’s face, burst out laughing. FitzSimmons exchanged looks.

“Oh my god, you thought I was mad about the tattoo. Oh my god, Jemma.” Jemma’s face bunched up in confusion. “I was mad about you not _telling_ me!” They stared and as they stood stock-still, Trip wandered over.

“Hey girl. What’s the ink?”

“Blue orchids. Fitz did them this morning.”

“Nice.” He then turned around and offered a hand to the tattoo artists. “Hey, I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Trip.” Fitz politely smiled and shook his hand.

“Hi. So you’re the one betting on us?”

“What?” came Simmons’s voice next to him.

“Skye and Trip are betting on us. That’s all she’d tell me,” he said, gesturing to the grinning restaurant owner.

“Hi!” she said, chipper and cheery.

“Skye, what the-”

“So table for two, right? Right! Trip, see them to their table while I go make sandwiches and avoid being murdered!” she cried and danced behind the counter.

There was an exaggerated sigh from Jemma as she rolled her eyes and followed Trip instead of running after Skye and tearing the information from her lips like she wanted to. Instead, she settled for interrogating Trip as he led them to her seat, nearly growling with frustration when he didn’t give up anything, only smirked.

“I will tell you one thing,” he said, turning away from where they were seated. “It looks like I’m winning.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving FitzSimmons sputtering out questions behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi loves, so as a liability clause I suppose, I have absolutely no clue on how tattoo tools work. I know just about everything I wrote here from various other fics and a few internet sources. Basically, if this is deeply inaccurate, please tell me so I can fix it? I did my best, and hope you enjoy! (Please don't forget comments are my life's sustenance :P A shout-out thank you to all of my regular commenters, as well!)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Flower Language Easter Egg: victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html  
> Jemma's Tattoo: http://tattrx.tumblr.com/post/105455526979/marcus-lund-tattoo-blue-orchids

The next morning, he walked into her shop with an eyebrow raised and something careful in the way he walked.

“Re-apply the ointment?”

“Yes.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” He gave her a pointed look as he leaned on the counter. “A bit sore, but fine,” she relented.

“Good.”

“Didn’t those sting like hell?” she asked, gesturing to his arms.

“A bit. No more than the cuts.”

“Good point.” Self-consciously, her fingers brushed the bandage, and she felt his hand come up and pull her fingers away.

“Don’t. It’s just going to smart more, and you don’t want to do that.” She nodded, noticing that he kept his fingers wrapped around hers.

“I’m fine.”

“Of course,” he said with a smile and a squeeze of her hand. “You’re tough as nails, you know that? I’ve had grown men cry out and run from the chair on neck tattoos.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

* * *

 

Fitz was attentive and caring, making sure she re-applied the ointment to her ink every morning and kept it neatly bandaged. He was there when it was finally healed and she took off the bandages for the last time, the skin healed and the ink shining. She stared in the mirror and ran her hand over it, almost reverent of it and he smiled.

“Like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said softly. Turning to him, she wrapped her arms around his middle. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

* * *

 

A few weeks had passed, and Jemma had told him she had a wedding to pull rose petals for if he was free that Saturday, so he’d left a note on his door for walk-ins saying he was next door and headed over. Seeing her own note on the door- _be back in five, picking up a few vases from the glasswork shop down the street_ \- Fitz wandered around the shop, waiting for her to show up and admiring the various things on the walls. The place was homey, with dried lavender hanging in elegant bunches and pressed flowers in frames along the walls. Strangely, there were bouquets of dried roses poking from a pair of slightly battered pointe slippers, hanging by their ribbons on the wall. Brow slightly furrowed, his fingers reached out to graze the toes where it looked like blood had soaked into the fabric, and jumped away when he heard the front door chime open.

“I used to do ballet,” Jemma offered by way of introduction, settling the bag she was carrying on the counter. “I was rather good, too. I just got… overly competitive, I suppose you could say.” Fitz’s face pinched slightly in confusion and she sighed. “Perhaps that’s not the right way of saying it.”

“How-” Shaking her head, she put up a hand to cut him off.

“I was good, and I started to get too… focused on the way I looked. I stopped eating. Almost entirely, but I’d calculate just enough calories to keep me moving through the day.” Sighing a little bit, she walked over to the shoes, fingers running along the lengths of the ribbons.

“Oh.” There was some quiet, and even though everything about her hinted more to the story, he didn’t want to push it. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I think you deserve to know,” she said after a moment of silence. “You told me your painful story, and so I think you deserve to know about mine, yeah?” He shrugged, letting his shoulders fall, and wandered closer to her, trying to offer silent support.

“It wasn’t good. There were these other girls starving themselves at my studio, and I thought they looked so pretty, you know? A little frail, a little delicate, like china dolls.” She let out a long breath and reached for her phone, flipping through it for a moment before handing him a picture. “I was so proud when my ribs started showing. I thought I was beautiful.” Fitz’s breath sucked in at the photograph. It was Jemma in a scorpion position, her back arched and her body lit with soft light. He could see the hollows of her cheeks, the way her bones stuck out like a skeleton and her skin was too pale to be healthy. Her spine protruded from her back in a strange fashion and he almost winced looking at it. He glanced back at her, half double-checking that she was still warm and full and healthy beside him, not this shell that she had been.

“Y’ know, I thought something was off during movie nights,” he said casually. Her brow bunched in confusion and he moved to explain. “I can still feel your ribs. And your hands are always just _awfully_ cold.” She flushed a little bit.

“I only got over it about a year back.” He nodded, quiet. Then, after a moment-

“I’m glad you did, though.” His words were soft, his hand moving to cup her hip. “You’re much prettier and healthier now than in that photograph.” A small smile curled up the edges of her lips, barely tinged with a hint of sadness.

“Thanks.” She barely managed to get the word out, a whisper on her breath. Their foreheads were almost bushing, and she could feel his little puffs of breath on her cheek. _He was so close_.

Then the clock chimed and his hand shot away from her, head jerking up and just barely stepping away.

“I’ve got t’ go- I’ve got an early morning client.” She nodded, reaching out to squeeze his hand as he left, him returning the gesture with a smile.

“Goodnight.”

The next morning, she found a basket of cookies on her doorstep, a pencil sketch of the photograph nestled in with the baked goods. It was just barely changed- but now she was smiling, ribs no longer showing and a little more flesh on her body, glowing and beautiful in a warm light. Her spine no longer protruded from her back and Fitz’s name was signed in a tiny scribble at the bottom corner.

Something warm bloomed in her chest along with her smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello loves! I know you all saw the angsty backstory on Fitz- aaaaaand now here's Jemma's angsty backstory. Hope you enjoyed and please remember that I SURVIVE off of your lovely comments and critiques!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Victorian Flower Language Easter Egg: victorianbazaar.com/meanings.html

It was another few days before he was able to spend time with her, and they spent practically the entire day prepping for a large wedding. May had ordered practically the entire shop, and Jemma was bustling around tying up bouquets for the sides of the chairs, the bridesmaids, and the arch they had requested. Thankfully, the bride’s bouquet was already sitting in a vase near the front of the shop and Fitz was pulling petals for the aisles. As she rushed around, she was a whirlwind of petals and flashes of scissors, only stopping (barely) when he brought her lunch. Within fifteen minutes she was back up, knotting the last tie on the bridesmaids’ bouquets. Fitz had closed his shop for the day (Thursdays weren’t very busy anyways), so he hung around the entire day and helped out the best he could. She made it to the arrangements for the pews before her hands started shaking. Her fingers were struggling to knot the bunch of them, slipping on the twine and sending the petals quivering.

Jemma was biting back tears when she felt a warmth at her back and two hands on hers, helping her fingers steady and slip the knots into place. His arms were gentle around her and his chin was settled over her shoulder, cheek pressed to the blossoms on her neck as careful fingers helped hers steady. There was something secure about him around her, like he was her shield against the world. When it was done, his fingers left hers and she turned to wrap her arms around his middle, face hidden in the slightly bunched fabric of his shirt. His arms were holding her close in a half-second, and she let out a huff of breath. After a moment, she pulled back and he pulled his arms back to his sides as she slowly filled her lungs with air.

“Sorry.” He shook his head, mouth half-open to say something, but she cut him off quickly. “Anxiety buildup. I get them from time to time. Not too often, but sometimes. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he said reassuringly. “This is a big wedding, and you’ve been working all of yesterday and today.” She tilted her head to the side.

“How’d you know I was working yesterday?” The red flamed quickly on his cheeks and he brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck.

“Er- I kind of came in yesterday night. Eleven-ish. And you were passed out down here with the Bride’s bouquet in a vase of water and your fingers were still stained green. You were slumped on the counter and it kind of seemed… wrong to leave you there. So I carried you back to your room.” Jemma flushed red. There _was_ that disconnect in her memory, on how on earth she’d gotten back to her bed, but she’d chalked it all up to exhaustion. She didn’t even remember finishing the bouquet, so it had seemed perfectly valid until…

Something stirred in her mind. _A gentle rocking, swaying and a warmth on her side. Her arms were looped around shoulders, head tucked into a soft, worn fabric and something under her legs and back was supporting her. She started to stir, a little whimpering noise making its way from her mouth when a voice softly shushed her, fingers running down the side of her back. “Shh, Jem. It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” The voice was soft, tender, and just before she let sleep engulf her once more, there was a soft press of lips to the crown of her head._

“Oh.” For a moment, that was the only word she could get out. Then- “Thank you.”

“Come on,” he said softly, reaching behind her to take the twine. “You’ve only got four left. You can arrange them and I’ll tie them up, alright?” She nodded and started pulling the next bundle together.

Forty minutes later, Fitz was handing the last of the arrangements to the driver, Melinda handing Jemma a large envelope of cash. As they watched the large black van rumble away, Fitz reached out and threaded his fingers through Jemma’s, his thumb idly brushing back and forth over smooth skin. She turned to him, smiling, and pulled her hand away. For a second he looked something between shocked and hurt, but as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly, relief spilled over his features and he let his arms wrap around her waist.

“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

“Of course,” he said, pulling back a little so he could look her in the eyes. Their faces were so close, noses almost brushing and Jemma wanted nothing more than to kiss him right then and there.

And then something flashed in his eyes and he stepped back, hands pulling themselves away and putting a little distance between them.

“I-I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, I have to- I have to get dinner on. And stuff,” he stuttered. She nodded and let him go, sighing to herself and nearly collapsing onto a chair when the door slammed shut, biting back at the frustration that stabbed at her gut.

It’d been weeks, months now, and little moments like these were slowly driving Jemma mad. Seconds where he looked like he was going to kiss her, the way his hands would brush over hers and his touch would linger. One day, as he left her shop at nearly midnight with a smile and a squeeze of her hand, she nearly screamed in a mixture of frustration and confusion, flying in a rush downstairs with scissors and twine to do what she did best.

Soft pink roses, the bright yellow of gorse flowers, diosma dotting the bundle in light lavender and drooping scarlet fuchsia blooms were bundled together with string and shaking hands. Emotions were confusing, knotting themselves over and over inside her gut and frazzling her brain, so she let the energy thread out her fingers as she snipped, placed, and shifted, letting out a huff of air as she finished and looked at the completed arrangement before her.

She left it at his doorstep with a note bearing his name and a ring of the doorbell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morning everyone! I hope you enjoy this chapter (I almost died writing this fluff :P). Big- but kind of short (sorry)- scene coming up next Friday!!! I hope everyone enjoyed, and please remember that I live off of your comments! (Giant thank-yous to all of my regular commenters <3)


	8. Chapter 8

When Fitz found a bundle of flowers on his doorstep and no name but his own, he didn't really have to question who they were from. The real question was why she left it there, why she must have run like hell when he headed for the door. Eyes flitting over the notecard in his room for the hundredth time, flowers in the other hand, he finally found three little letters in the bottom right corner.

 _V-F-L_.

 _Victorian Flower Language_.

It was a flurry of movement as he raced for his laptop, researching flowers and a myriad of different sites that translated the language for him. His fingers flew over the keyboard and eyes flashed between the blossoms and the screen, flicking between identification and translation with ease. When he was done, there was a list of flowers and their meanings in front of him, making his breath stutter and his hands go still.

_Oh. **Oh.**_

He was racing for the door, flowers in hand before he even knew what he was doing. Out of his room, down the stairs, through the shop, his mind was a blur as he knocked almost frantically at the door. He watched through the glass as she walked down the stairs in loose pajamas and sleep blurring her eyes, rubbing at her face with too-long sleeves.

“Fitz?” she asked softly, opening the door. “Fitz, what-” her eyes went wide at the sight of the flowers. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you-?”

“Yeah.” They stared at each other for moment.

And as the moment wrapped his head in the pounding of his heart and chained back his rationality with the adrenaline spiking his blood, he cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, sorry guys, this was a short one :P I just kind of really loved that cliffhanger. Jemma's reaction pending and all ;) I hope you guys enjoyed this and please remember that comments are the loveliest gifts!!!


	9. Chapter 9

She stiffened in surprise as he did, but after a second she softened and pressed back against him, kissing him back with just as much gusto. Her arms looped around his neck and pulled him closer, straining on her toes to reach his height. He stumbled forward a bit, further into the shop and letting the door slam shut behind him. In a surge, he lifted her up so she was on the counter so she could wrap her legs around him and kiss him without straining. When they did break apart with a gasp, he leaned to press his forehead to hers as she swallowed his little gasps of breath and he hers. She met his eyes and smiled, quickly moving to quickly kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Hi.” He grinned and pressed forward to kiss her again, this time slower and less frantic than before. As they broke apart again, he couldn't keep a grin off his face as he picked her up and spun her around in a circle, feeling warm as her laughter echoed the feeling in his chest. Setting her down again, she grinned and balled a fist in the front of his shirt, pulling them back so she was pressed against the wall of the hallway leading to her apartment. Tugging him down and pulling up herself, their lips clashed again, only barely pulling apart when they really needed to. And so they sat there panting for a moment, their lips still bushing and faces almost touching.

“Hi,” the artist managed, half-whisper against her lips.

Fitz focused on her collarbone after he got his breath back, trailing affection down one side and up the other. Kisses wandered up the side of her neck, peppering the blues and greens under her skin with warmth and pressing his mouth to the soft skin. The little sighs she let out as he did it made him smile and she could feel the shape of his mouth change on her skin.

“You have no idea-” he whispered, still kissing her lightly along that stretch of skin, over and over and over again, “-how long I’ve wanted to do this.” She tugged him upwards and threaded a hand in his curls, firmly pressing her mouth to his.

“I think I might,” she whispered, breathless as they broke apart. “I’ve wanted to do the same to you.”

“Months?”

“Months.” One of her hands ran up his chest, the other anchored on his shoulder and keeping him close. Not that he would have moved anyways. Jemma was pressed between him and the wall and the way she was arching against him made his mind almost blank out right then and there.

“ _Fi-itz_ ,” she sing-songed, snapping him back into reality. Giggling, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “Lost you there, for a moment.” Sliding along the wall, she tugged him by the wrist towards her quarters and they stumbled a bit onto the living-room couch together. His body pressed on top of hers, he bent down to passionately press his mouth to hers once more, and she hummed her approval.

“Why didn't you?” she gasped as they broke apart.

“Kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't think-” His voice smoothed into a soft groan as she sucked a mark on his neck. “-didn't think you’d… you know, want me.” She pulled away, eyes wide.

“Leopold Fitz.” He raised an eyebrow at the use of his full name, but she placed a kiss on his lips before he could say anything. “You are the densest person on this planet,” she mumbled against his lips. He huffed a breath of laughter and pressed forward again, feeling her lips skim over his, her teeth running lightly over his bottom lip.

She could feel his hands running up her hips and dipping into the curve of her waist, gently scooting the fabric up her sides. Breaking away from his kiss, she gave him a small smile and used her own hands to carefully guide his away.

“Too soon, okay?” Her words were barely a breath against him lips but he immediately backtracked, pulling himself off of her and moving back to the other end of the couch, hands suddenly twisting in nervousness and embarrassment written all over his features.

“Oh- I’m sorry- I- I didn’t know- I didn’t mean to-” he stuttered, standing up slowly.

“Fitz,” she cut in, standing and walking so she was face-to-face with him. “It’s okay.” She went on her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. “That wasn’t rejection. I just don’t want to go that far tonight, you know?” Her eyes flicked to the floor and back to his face. “Fitz?” A half-smile was ghosting over his face as he slowly, watching her face for changes in expression, reached forward to wrap his arms around her and leaned down.

There was a soft sigh from her lips as he leaned down to kiss her, slower and softer now, with a tenderness that ached.

“Of course, Jem,” he murmured as they broke apart. “As cliché as it sounds, I think I might wait forever for you.”

“Some things are cliché for a reason,” she whispered back, smiling. Then, slightly louder, “Do you want to stay the night? Just- Just sleep, you know? I-” The rest of the sentence came out mumbled and hard to comprehend.

“What?”

“Ijustreallykindofwantyouherewithme.” She was flushed completely red, eyes decidedly looking away when he smiled and placed a kiss on the corner of her lips.

“I’d love to stay.”

* * *

The next morning, Jemma woke up wrapped in warmth.

As she blinked awake, she felt an arm curled around her torso, a chest pressed to her back and soft puffs of breath on her neck. Then the events of the night came back to her and she half-stiffened in realization, then relaxed as he sleepily grumbled under his breath and pulled her a little closer. Slowly, carefully, she shifted around in his arms until they were face to face. A smile ghosted over her expression and she pressed a quick kiss to his lips before gently lifting his arm from around her and crawling from the covers. Quickly scribbling a note and leaving it on her pillow, she dressed in a whirlwind and was about to slip from the room when Fitz’s discarded jumper caught her eye. Nabbing it from where it hung on a chair, she tugged it over her head and slipped out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand now the science babies make out :P I kind of wrote some of that in to avoid smut- I rather suck at writing smut (like, seriously, I have to do research for KISSING scenes), but if someone would like to write up a little something, I can add a chapter and credit them ;) I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Why do you think Jemma slipped out? How do you think Fitz is going to react? Once again, thank you for reading and all of the lovely comments thus far, and there will be the final chapter up this Friday! (I'll probably upload some time in the afternoon, I'll be at a robotics competition- wish me luck? :P)


	10. Chapter 10

When Simmons practically collapsed at the breakfast bar at Skye’s place, her friend was over there immediately, concern written on every feature and a glare sent out at the kitchen that read _this is a girls-only talk_. Settling on her elbows across from her friend, she decided to start on a lighter note.

“Jemma, you’re wearing Fitz’s shirt.” Skye suggestively raised an eyebrow as she leaned across the counter. “There something I don’t know about?”

“No, no, this- this is my jumper-”

“Wipe that look of your face, Simmons. You’re an awful liar.”

“I have no idea what you’re-”

“Why are you so- holy _shit!_ ”

“What?” Now Jemma was properly confused, head slightly tilted to the side.

“Holy shit! You two totally banged!”

“Wh- _what?!_ ”

“Holy _shit!_ ”

“Skye- ugh, _fine_.” Settling at a barstool, she leaned on her elbows and casually said, “So Fitz and I- well, I think we’re dating.” Skye rolled her eyes and poured Jemma a cup of boiling water, simultaneously shoving a rack full of tea bags towards her friend.

“No shit. You’re also probably also doing awful, awful, brain-scarring stuff in the bedroom.”

“Skye!”

“What? You’re wearing his shirt and have at least three hickeys on your neck.”

“I knew I should have worn a scarf.”

“C’mon. Explanation.”

“What is there to explain?”

“Well, did he ask you? How did he ask you? Was it romantic? Did he take you out on a date yet? Is he good in bed? Man, some of the things I hear about artists’ hands…”

“ _Skye!_ ” Jemma squeaked, mortified.

“What? Are his hands as good as people say they are?”

“Skye- God, we didn’t-”

“ _You’re wearing his shirt!_ ”

“Fine! So we might have kissed. Quite a bit. And so he might have slept over. And so perhaps he sleeps shirtless. And I might have stolen his shirt and left him a note that said I was going to be out for a bit but I’d be right back because I needed to talk to you.” Skye raised an eyebrow. “Shut up! I like the shirt!” The exclamations were followed by a low muttering under her breath that her friend strained to hear.

“What was that, Simmons?”

“And it smells like him,” she murmured just a bit louder, flushing a fluorescent red.

“You _dork_.”

“ _Skye!_ ” The waitress sighed and leaned forward, something a little more serious in her eyes as she watched her friend fix a cup of chai.

“You said you needed to talk to me. Spill.” Jemma took a sip of the beverage and let out a sigh as it clinked back onto the counter.

“Well, I gave him a bundle of flowers because… well, I got frustrated. One of those spur-of-the-moment decisions, you know? And I clued him into Victorian Flower Language and left them on his doorstep. And then he came over and he’d figured it out and he kissed me and I kissed him back and we went to bed- _not like that_ , we were just sleeping- and I woke up and rushed over here because I don’t know where to go from here oh my god Skye what do I do?” There was a pause as Skye raised an eyebrow at her.

“…Seriously?”

“Yes!” Skye let out a groan and put her head in her hands.

“Simmons, how many boyfriends have you had before this?”

“Two.”

“And how did those happen?”

“They asked me on a date and I went.” Jemma’s brow was pinching and she tilted her head. “Why does this matter?”

“ _Just get your ass back to your apartment and ask him if he wants to do the dating thing._ ” Skye ran her hands over her face as she settled herself more upright. “I swear to god, Jemma.”

“What?”

“ _Go!_ ”

As Simmons scrambled for the door, Skye rolled her eyes and turned back to the kitchen. Watching her friend rush home through the windows, she called, “Hey, Trip, I totally win!” Her boyfriend poked his head out of the kitchen, laughing grin plastered over his face.

“Totally called it,” she boasted as she snatched the five from his apron pocket.

“You were a half-week early, but whatever.”

“Hey, at least I didn’t call it practically two months ago.”

“A month and three weeks. Don’t exaggerate.”

“I still win!”

Trip laughed and rolled his eyes as she celebrated, dancing around the kitchen with a teasing grin aimed at him. As she finished and leaned back on the counter, she added, “Though they do need to technically talk it through. But whatever. You know as well as I do that they’ll end up together.”

* * *

 

At that exact moment, Fitz was pacing back and forth in his own apartment, anxiety twisting in his gut. _Why did she go see Skye? Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong? Why would she just leave? Does she think it’s a mistake? What if-?_ His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door. It could only have been her- no one else had his shop key and simultaneously enough courtesy to knock before opening the door.

“Come in.” Face a little flushed, she peeked out from around the door and stepped into the room in small steps, almost nervously. Fitz’s gut twisted. _She’s going to tell me this was all a mistake_.

“Hey, Fitz.”

“Jemma,” he said softly, a little hurt, a little uneasy.

“Sorry I just disappeared.” He stayed quiet as she shifted in place. “I- I was just a little jumbled. Skye talked me through it, though. Kind of. You know, in her own special way.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, basically… What are we?” she asked softly, eyes questioning. There was a pause, and Fitz took a small step forward.

“…What do you want?”

“I-” The words caught in Jemma’s throat and she couldn’t get them out. “I want-” _What is wrong with me?_

“I want you, Fitz.” Fitz’s breath caught now, and he stared. _She what?_

“You want- you want _me_?” he managed to stutter out. “There have to be loads of other guys, and-”

“ _Fitz_ ,” she sighed, exasperated. Hesitant, she took a step forward and put a hand on his arm. “Of course I want you. You’re funny, sweet, caring, intelligent as hell and will watch Doctor Who with me- why wouldn’t I?” As she spoke, a smile grew over her face and his mirrored it, a hand reaching out to cup her hip.

“I dunno, I just figured-”

“ _Fitz_.” She cut him off with a raised eyebrow. “Really?” He nodded sheepishly and she giggled a little bit before a more somber expression passed over her features. “What about you?” His face relaxed into a sated smile as he looped both arms around her waist.

“Jemma Simmons,” he said, leaning down so their noses were brushing. “Would you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?” Grinning, she reached up and looped her arms around his neck.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” she whispered, leaning in.

And as he kissed her, morning light streaming through the curtains, he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late!!! I just had three crazy days of robotics competition and being stuck with a group of 90% boys for almost 12 hours at a time with no Wi-Fi, and so I was a bit too worn out to post at night. Sorry!!! This is the final installment, but if you'd like to prompt or even write your own little ficlets from this universe, feel free! (In fact, I'm always open to any prompts prompts. I'm in a bit of a writer's block, so anything that might spark some inspiration would be nice. You could comment or send me an Ask on tumblr at divergent-ravenclaw-of-athena.tumblr.com. Thanks!!)   
> Thank you to everyone who stuck with this story until the very end- all of your comments and kudos just made my days perfect! Thank you a million times over, and I hope you enjoyed!


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